


1953

by funnierinpylean



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Eventual Threesome, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Relationship Problems, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Threesome, i just wanted to write this ot3 and angst happened, i'm so in love with aus where peggy and bucky and steve find their post-war happiness, sad but then it's okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7014466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnierinpylean/pseuds/funnierinpylean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Bucky are living a happily married life - she, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and he, an agent working under her - when Howard Stark gives them news that will change everything. He's found Steve; he's found Steve still alive, but frozen. How will Steve react to the news that his former lovers have moved on without him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He's Alive!

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from the angst of As the Devil Fights, so here you go. Because I'm me, I can't stop this from being a LITTLE angsty, but nothing like before. And I promise, it all ends in happy OT3 fluff.

Bucky stared at his wife, who was fast asleep. He resisted the urge to poke her awake, the way she certainly would do to him if their positions were reversed; he forced himself to look, to do nothing but look.  The rays of light from the window played across her face, and he watched her skin shine in the sun. Her eyelashes cast shadows over her high cheekbones, and his resolve broke, he bent over and kissed her gently on the side of her mouth.

Peggy smiled in her sleep, as if she knew the punchline to a joke Bucky had never heard before. Bucky let his eyes wander down, down her neck, down her silk nightgown, down past the rise of her hip, down to where the nightgown ended and buttery soft thighs began. Kissing her once more on her lips, Bucky crept down her body, hooking his hand around her thigh, pulling it open, gently encouraging his sleeping wife to readjust so that she lay on her back. Watching her carefully, Bucky placed a kiss on the inside of her knee, then another, further up, and again, until he had kissed a line up past the hem of her nightie, up where her body started to radiate heat. He kissed the hair he found there, nuzzled a little, let himself breathe in the fresh scent of his wife.

A slight hand came up to cradle the back of his head; _Peggy's awake, Peggy's awake_ , a voice sang to him, but no matter, he kept kissing his wife’s mound, tongue darting out to lick the skin he found there, tongue dipping lower and lower and then—

Peggy’s hand pressed into the back of Bucky’s head as he licked at her warm slit; kitten licks; she pressed on him as if to push him deeper into her, and he paid her no mind. She was salty on his tongue, salty and sweet like a summer day at the ocean, and he heard her breath hitch, and he knew, _he knew_ he had her—

He broadened his tongue and took all of her onto him, tasting her fully. Firming his tongue, he fucked up into her, pressing into her body as she gasped above him, her thighs clamping down on his head the way he loved—he couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything, it was just him and Peg—

A sharp tug on his hair. He rose quickly, captured her lips with his, tongue plumbing deep into the the depths of her, forcing her to taste how good she tasted. She smiled underneath him, as if she was suppressing a laugh at how seriously he was taking all this—  He felt her hand wander closer to his groin, and then it was on him, stroking him as he rapidly lengthened. He took a moment to shrug off his pajama bottoms as she continued to stroke him. Her free hand entwined with his and he pressed it down into the pillows, kissing her hard.

“Wait, darling,” she murmured, and Bucky stopped, hovering above her, still clutching her hand. He was breathing hard. She reached down and in one swift motion, pulled her nightgown off, discarding it on the floor with Bucky’s pants. She was as naked as he was, her breasts splayed out underneath him.

“You ready?” asked Bucky, voice still gravelly from sleep. He mouthed at her temple, and pushed into her hard when he felt her nod.

She gasped at the intrusion, arched her back. He paid her no mind as she bucked against him—after seven years of this, he knew her body and her responses better than he knew his own—and continued moving, pulling out and in, pulling her legs up high so he could aim better, aim deeper. He moved down her temple and began sucking on her collarbone (of course, neck was off limits, the Director of SHIELD couldn’t be seen with Bucky-induced hickeys), biting and worrying at the skin, leaving what was sure to turn into a fine-looking mark.  
  
“Bucky, I’m close,” she gasped, and Bucky sped up, knowing not to shift positions so close to the endpoint, knowing that whatever he was doing, it was working. He worked closer to his own release, spilling inside of her just as her halted moans told him she was spilling over, in her own way.

Spent, he spent a few moments above his wife, kissing her forehead, her nose, her cheek, her lips, finally—before she playfully smacked his ass, smiling at him. He grinned and pulled out of her with a sigh.

“Think it’ll stick this time?” asked Peggy, her voice almost a whisper. Color rode high on her cheeks; her hair sweaty and mussed across her forehead.

“It will, one of these days,” said Bucky, yawning and kissing her temple. He rolled off of her and began sliding on the discarded pajama pants. “We’ve only been trying for what, a week? Give it time, doll.”

“I know. I’m just nervous,” said Peggy, rolling over and looking at the wall clock. “Good heavens, look at the time.”

“Relax, it’s Saturday. Saturdays were made for sleeping in and sex,” said Bucky, grinning.

“Up,” said Peggy, determined. “I said I would make pancakes this morning, not this afternoon,” she said, a note of steel entering her voice. She stood up and pulled on her dressing gown.

“Peg, you’ve gotta be kidding me, it’s barely nine thirty,” whined Bucky, but he followed Peggy out of the bedroom nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

Peggy deposited a perfectly round stack of pancakes in front of Bucky, and he grinned at her, before diving in. They ate in silence, happily absorbed in the newspaper. Bucky had an inner section and Peggy the front page—as a professional courtesy, Buck always let his wife get to the meat of the news first.

“Looks like someone’s managed to climb Mount Everest,” said Peggy.

“Well, that’s something,” said Bucky, taking a sip of coffee. “Steve and I used to dream about doing that. Well, Steve, more than me; I just went along with it to humor him. I wasn’t much interested in life outside of Brooklyn, in those days.”

“I can just imagine him getting wrapped up in such an idea,” said Peggy, putting the newspaper down and smiling at Bucky. “In peacetime, that is. He was far too preoccupied with other things when I knew him.”

“He sure would have loved the ‘50s, that’s for sure,” said Bucky, his voice a little distant. “Enough to eat, no Nazis to worry about. It’s paradise.”

“He’d have found something to worry about,” said Peggy, turning back to the paper. “Korea. Stalin.”

“No shop talk, it’s our day off,” said Bucky, sternly. “Hey, you didn’t mention anything about the coronation, it’s everywhere today,” said Bucky, tossing Peggy his section of the paper.

Peggy looked at the paper Bucky had given her and snorted. “They’ve even mapped out the route the coronation procession took,” she said, derisively.

“C’mon, it’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?” said Bucky. “Fresh-faced, beautiful new queen, and all of that?”

“Yes, of course,” said Peggy, softening a bit. “But the ceremony of it all,” she said. “Seems rather overdone. I prefer what we do, in the shadows. Less pomp, but more gets done.”

The telephone rang. Bucky went to pick it up.

“Howard!” said Bucky, happily. “Do we have you back?”

Peggy perked up at the name. It had been a week or more since they had heard anything from Howard Stark, who had gone off on one of his secret, self-assigned missions—which Peggy secretly suspected were nothing more than excuses to jet off to Majorca with his girlfriend of the week.

“Today? Are you sure? It’s kind of our one day off, Howard,” said Bucky, sounding pained. “All right, if you’re sure,” he said.

“What’s that all about?” asked Peggy, as Bucky hung up the phone.

“Turns out we have to go into the office, hon,” said Bucky, resigned. “He sounded serious, and I haven’t heard him sound serious since 1949.”

“We’re finishing our pancakes first,” said Peggy, firmly.

 

* * *

 

“Well, Howard,” said Peggy, irritated. “You wanted us, now you have us,” she said. Bucky closed the door to Howard’s office behind them.

“Nice to see you too, Peggy, Buck,” said Howard, nodding, but the customary mirth was absent from his voice. He had been standing at the wide windows of his office; had apparently been gazing out at the Manhattan skyline before they had walked in.

“What’s the matter, pal?” said Bucky, looking at Howard with concern.

Howard opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, and then closed it. He shook his head. “I don’t really know how to tell you what I need to tell you,” he said, voice flat.

“Might as well start from the beginning,” said Peggy, gently. She glanced at Bucky, worry evident in her face.

“I haven’t been in Majorca,” said Howard, turning to face them. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept for days.

“Could have guessed that,” said Bucky. “So where were you, that was so important you couldn’t let SHIELD know?”

“Dredging the upper Atlantic for Steve’s body,” said Howard, quietly.

Peggy and Bucky stood there, stunned.

“Couldn’t tell SHIELD, it was my own vanity project, I guess,” said Howard. Bucky felt as if he was in a wind tunnel, blood was rushing through his head, he couldn’t hear, couldn’t think properly.

Peggy was shaking, Bucky noticed, absently. Shaking with anger. “Because I’d never have let you experiment with his remains,” she said, fury lacing every word. “You’ve been going off on your secret side missions for what, four years now, Howard?”

“That’s right, Peg,” said Howard, looking down, shamefacedly. Bucky had never seen Howard look ashamed of himself before, he thought. It would almost be funny, except. Well. Nothing had ever been less funny in his entire life.

“So what is it that you’ve come here to tell us, Howard?” said Peggy, her words clipped, controlled. “What atrocity have you committed, this time?”

“Peg, I found him,” said Howard, quietly. “He’s… he’s alive.”

Bucky made some kind of a noise, halfway between a yell and a whisper, and fell into a chair in front of Howard’s desk.

“What did you say?” said Peggy, voice small.

“He was frozen, fifty klicks south of Greenland. We detected a faint heartbeat. I think the serum helped him survive the ice. SHIELD techs are defrosting him downstairs as we speak,” said Howard.

Bucky felt warmth on his shoulders, felt his wife’s arms rest on him. He reached out blindly and grasped her hand, clutched to it like it was his lifeline. _Steve’s alive_ , he thought to himself. His heart pounded in his chest. _Steve’s alive, Steve’s alive, Steve’s alive._

“What sort of… condition… do we expect him to be in?” asked Peggy, worried.

“No way to tell yet,” said Howard. “Could be just fine, could be brain-dead. We just have to wait and see.”

“How long?” said Bucky, voice hoarse.

“A few hours, at least,” said Howard.

Bucky looked up at his wife, tears in his eyes. She looked down at him and squeezed his hand. She was crying, he noticed. Same as him.

“We can go down to the observation theater, if you’d like,” said Howard, quietly.

“Yes, let’s,” said Peggy.

“No,” said Bucky, suddenly, surprised at how sure he sounded. He wouldn’t be able to bear it, he knew. Wouldn’t be able to bear watching lab techs worry over his Steve, wouldn’t be able to look at Steve if it turned out… if it turned out that Steve wasn’t really the same, wasn’t really back after all.

“No, then,” said Peggy. “We’ll stay here, Howard,” she said, and Bucky loved her for not arguing.

They settled in to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is the paper they're looking at](http://timesmachine.nytimes.com/timesmachine/1953/06/02/issue.html), incidentally. It's June 2nd, 1953, which let's just pretend is a Saturday, for the purposes of this fic. You need a Times subscription to really read the entire thing. I wasn't aware that Sir Edmund Hillary climbed Everest at the same time that Queen Elizabeth was crowned. That's kind of cool, if you're into British imperialism.


	2. He's Awake!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve wakes up, there is kissing, there is the discovery of certain unavoidable facts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm clearly procrastinating, because here's chapter two. Unbetaed, but whatever. Remember, I am fueled by your comments, so COMMENT. <3 
> 
> (I'm not responsible if your teeth rot after reading this chapter. It's that sweet.)

His eyes fluttered open. Classical music was playing in the background, something very piano and soothing. He turned his head and winced at the fight his neck muscles put up. There was a bone-deep ache in his shoulders that told him he hadn’t moved in a very long time. He was wearing a white t-shirt, khaki pants, nothing unusual. Where was he? He looked around, Last he remembered, he was… the plane…

A flood of panic went through his system as he sat up—aches and pains be damned. He threw the covers off, swung his feet around the side of the bed, and stood up. Where was he? Nazi Germany, or America, or somewhere in between? His feet were full of pins and needles but he ignored them as he strode over to the mirror in the room, the mirror that had no business being in a hospital room, which told him it was actually a one-way window.

He slammed his hand on the window, hard enough to break it. “Hey!” he yelled, voice hoarse from disuse. “Let me out of here!” he yelled again, hitting the window again. Spidery cracks appeared in the window. He pulled his arm back, winding up like a pitcher would, intending to deal the window a death blow, but before he could, the door to the hospital room opened, and Howard Stark—honest to goodness _Howard Stark_ —came through.

“Would you quit destroying my lab?” yelled Howard, but there was a broad smile on his face.

“Howard!” shouted Steve, grinning at him, sweeping him up in a hug. He still didn’t know where he was, but if Howard Stark was here, it must be Allied territory.

“Hey buddy,” said Howard, sounding a little like he was getting the breath squeezed out of him, which he entirely was. “Ease up a little, supersoldier,” said Howard, laughing a little.

“Sorry,” said Steve, grinning at him. He released Howard, grasped him by the shoulders.  “Did it work? Did we save New York?”

“Steve, we saved the world,” said Howard, his eyes shining.

“You mean…” Steve found he couldn’t quite speak. Was it all really over?

“That’s right, buddy, the war’s over,” said Howard, smiling, a little sadly.

“Peggy. Where’s Peggy?” he demanded.

“Upstairs. Waiting for you,” said Howard.

“And Bucky?”

“Also upstairs. Waiting with Peggy. I told them we found you a few hours ago,” said Howard.

“Where are they? I want them here!” said Steve, only a little petulantly.

“One minute, big guy,” said Howard, firmly. He nodded at the nurse, who had just walked in. “We need to take your vitals, first. You just came out of a deep freeze.”

“So I take it I wasn’t just gone a few days?” asked Steve, his heart pounding. He sat back down on the hospital bed, held out his arm as directed so the nurse could check his blood pressure.

“A while, Steve,” said Howard. For the first time, Steve could see the marks of age on Howard’s face, the slight graying of his temples.

“Howard. How long was I gone?” he asked, slowly, carefully.

Howard adjusted the medical equipment next to Steve’s bed, recalibrating something, checking something else.

“Howard!” said Steve, urgently.

“It’s 1953, Steve,” said Howard, quietly. “You’re nine years late.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” said Steve, covering his face with his free hand.

“Hey, least it’s less than a decade. Can you imagine waking up seventy years later? We’d all be dead,” said Howard, grinning at Steve, but he looked subdued.

The doors opened and Peggy flew in, crying out for Steve, and she was so beautiful, her curls flying everywhere; it was all Steve knew to do, he didn’t think, didn’t stop to _think_ , he swept her up in his arms and kissed her, lifting her off her feet.

“Oh, _Steve_ ,” whispered Peggy, when he released her. Tears ran down her cheeks. “We missed you, so, so much, darling.” She smiled through the tears, and Steve felt his heart break a little. They all had thought he was dead. Nine years. Dead. Steve interlaced his hands with hers, and kissed her again, eyes watering.

“Missed you, doll,” he said, finally, even though it had been moments for him, nothing like what she had gone through. He rested his forehead against hers, and felt her hands, grasped them in his big fists, massaging them with his thumb. Except…

“This is new,” said Steve, fingering the ring Peggy wore on her left hand. He tried to infuse as much warmth into his voice as he could muster, and found he couldn’t muster very much. A ring. Reluctantly, he pulled away from her. He stared at her, couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to looking at her.

Peggy felt the ring with her other hand, playing with it like it she was about to take it off, and opened her mouth to speak, to explain herself, but then someone behind her coughed, and it was Bucky, it was _Bucky_ , and so he forgot all about the ring. Steve grabbed Bucky tight, squeezing him hard but Bucky didn’t care, Bucky gave as good as he got.

“Fuckin’ missed you, pal,” whispered Bucky into Steve’s ear and Steve forgot how to breathe.

“You’re alive,” was all he could think of saying, and he repeated it a few times.

“Course I am,” said Bucky, fiercely. “The war wrapped up pretty fast after you killed Red Skull, sweetheart.” The familiar endearment was too low for anyone but Steve’s ears, and he blushed a little, hoping Peggy or Howard didn’t hear.

Bucky let Steve go and Steve had to wipe at his eyes for a moment. He firmly pushed all thoughts of the ring out of his mind as he looked at his two best friends, the most important people in his entire life, together, in this same room with him. The war was over, the world was safe, and Peggy and Bucky and him were all in the same room; really, what more could he ask for?

“Shockingly, you’re fine,” said Howard, sighing. “Blood pressure normal, heart rate normal, reflexes okay. Guess I have no more reason to keep you here,” he said.

“Well, get me some clothes and let’s go see what the 1950s look like,” said Steve, grinning.

A lab tech entered the room. “Excuse me, Director Barnes and Mr. Stark, you’re needed upstairs,” he said, and Steve looked towards Bucky, but it wasn’t Bucky, it was Peggy who stood up a little straighter.

“Be right up,” said Peggy, blissfully unaware of how Steve’s heart had started to pound. She kissed Steve’s cheek and apologized for her impending absence. She smiled at him one last time and she was gone, he was left with no one but Bucky. Bucky was stared at Steve, drinking him in; stared at him like he’d disappear if Bucky had the temerity to blink.

“ _Director Barnes_ ,” said Steve. “Barnes. Bucky, why is Peggy a Barnes?” he asked, mind spinning.

“Because I married her, pal.” said Bucky, still staring at him.

“You _married—_ ” but Steve couldn’t finish his sentence, because then Bucky was on him, lips crashing into his like a force of nature; gravity, or something like it. They kissed, if you could call it that; their mouths mashing together, teeth clicking, tongues down each other’s throat. Steve could hardly think, it was _Bucky_ who was invading his senses; Bucky, who hadn’t kissed him like this since before the battle that killed Steve.

Steve pushed Bucky away to an arm’s length distance, breathing heavily. Bucky reached out and touched Steve’s bleeding lip, staring at it. He palmed Steve’s face and his eyes filled with tears, and with a gruff “Jesus, I missed you,” he pulled Steve in for another bear hug.

“Bucky, you’re _married_ ,” was all Steve could think of saying, and Bucky laughed. He let Steve go.

“And you just kissed the hell out of my wife, so consider ourselves even,” he said, eyes dancing.

“Your wife,” said Steve, in awe. “Last I checked, you and Peggy couldn’t stand each other,” he said, grinning.

“Things change, Stevie,” said Bucky, quietly. “We were grieving, after you went under. We found each other.”

“She knows…?” asked Steve.

“Oh yeah,” said Bucky, nodding. “She’s heard every story.”

“Well, this is great!” said Steve, enthusiastically.

“What’s so great about it?” asked Bucky, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“My best guy and my best girl, they don’t hate each other anymore!” said Steve, grinning. There was more he was thinking, more questions he had, but he chose to focus on this for now.

Bucky snorted. “Trust you to find the silver lining. C’mon, let’s take you home.”

 

* * *

 

Steve stopped before the threshold of the mansion—no, really, that’s what it was, a _mansion_ —taking a deep breath and finally stepping inside. The house was just as gorgeous inside as it was out—tastefully decorated, and he would have expected no less from Peggy. It was cosy inside, despite the grandeur of the place; Nick Carraway’s cottage aesthetic in Gatsby’s grand house. His eyes widened as he took in the art lining the staircases — they were _his_ sketches, framed.

“Well, whaddya think?” asked Bucky, a little gruffly.

“All this, for a Brooklyn boy?” asked Steve, wonder in his voice.

“SHIELD wouldn’t let us live anywhere else,” complained Bucky, annoyance in his voice. “We need to live somewhere practically underground, somewhere with no neighbors. Peggy’s got too many late night visitors, it would have aroused suspicion in the city.”

“Isn’t your wife the Director? Couldn’t she have insisted you live midtown, or something?”

“To tell you the truth, I like it out here,” said Bucky. “It’s quiet. Never experienced quiet before. Finally have a real garage; I can work on my cars, and no one bothers me.”

“Cars? Plural?” asked Steve, shocked.

“Things definitely have changed since the Depression,” laughed Bucky. “Peggy makes enough for the both of us, but I do well enough for myself.”

“Wow,” said Steve, not knowing what else to say. “Wow.”

“You okay, pal?” asked Bucky, carefully. “Want some tea? I’ll put the kettle on,” he said, not waiting for Steve’s response. Steve sat down in a kitchen chair, watching Bucky wash two mugs.  

“This is everything we dreamed of,” said Steve. “Peacetime. Prosperity. Happiness.”

“Well, things aren’t perfect,” said Bucky, turning to face Steve. “There is a war on.”

“There is? Can’t be anything like the last one,” said Steve, frowning.

“Nah, it’s nothing like anything we’ve ever seen before. No real battles, nothing you can see on the surface, but SHIELD is busy as hell. Just got back from a long trip abroad, if you want to know the truth,” said Bucky, yawning.

“Where were you?” asked Steve.

“China.”

“They were our allies in the war,” said Steve, brow furrowing. “Why were you in China?”

“Can’t tell you anymore unless you formally get on board,” said Bucky, grinning.

Steve laughed. “Let a man be in the future for more than twenty-four hours before you start recruiting him to work for you!”

Bucky laughed with Steve. The kettle hissed, and Bucky began making tea.

The sound of a door opening and closing. “I’m home,” called Peggy from the front hallway.

“In here,” said Bucky, loudly, grabbing a third mug.

“Evening, darling,” said Peggy, kissing Bucky on the cheek. He smiled at her and kissed her smack on the mouth.

“Evening, Steve,” Peggy said, bending down to kiss Steve on the cheek. He pinked and averted his eyes, like a schoolboy who had been caught sneaking a toad into the classroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bucky watching the exchange with a smirk on his face.

“When did you get home?” Peggy asked, placing her hat on the kitchen table.

“Just before you. Steve wanted to go to Brooklyn,” said Bucky. “What did Dooley want?” he asked, putting a cup of tea in front of Steve.

“To go over the latest intelligence from Denier,” said Peggy. She unknotted her scarf, depositing it on the table next to the hat. She collapsed into the chair next to Steve, leaning back. She looked bone-tired. “So much for my day off,” she said, wearily.

“Started good, at least,” said Bucky, grinning at her wickedly. He took a sip of his tea.

“Now, Bucky,” she said, chidingly, but her soft smile betrayed her. Steve got the distinct impression they were talking about something other than finding him. He felt suddenly uncomfortable.

“Well, I should… probably… it’s been swell and all…” started Steve, standing up.

Bucky gaped at him. “Are you actually trying to leave?” he asked Steve, incredulously.

“Bucky, you’re a _married couple,_ ” insisted Steve, blushing. “I’ve already imposed too much,” he said, trying not to think about kissing Peggy the way he had earlier today.

“Would you shut up?” said Bucky, fiercely. “You’re family, for Christ’s sake,” he said, crossing the kitchen to Steve and hugging him. “We just got you back, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Bucky’s right,” said Peggy, voice firm and kind. “As far as I’m concerned, you must stay. Forever, if you can manage it.”

Steve smiled, his heart pounding so hard he thought it would flip out of his chest. “Okay, I’ll stay,” he said, softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally had a discussion of Uncle Joe Stalin and his crimes. It doesn't anymore. I'll probably bring it back at some point. Hooray!


	3. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is coffee, a break-up, and a flashback.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this chapter, holy shit. The last one was so happy, and this one is just.... sad. And Bucky is being a piece of shit, honestly. I'm going to fix it, I promise.

 

Steve looked out across the verandah, taking in the pinks and purples of the Long Island sunrise, and wished that he had an easel and paints with him. Sunrises were cliched topics for artists, but he loved painting them nonetheless. He hadn’t actually had many opportunities to paint them before. It was hard to catch a really good one in crowded Brooklyn, and while there had been enough stunning sunrises to last a lifetime on the western front, there hadn’t been time to paint during the war. He was looking forward to getting back into it; art for art’s sake.

He sipped at his coffee, wincing slightly at the burn—he’d have to wait for it to cool a little, drinking it too fast was always a bad habit of his. He wondered that he was even this awake; that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to sleep in. After all, he had received next to no sleep last night, thanks to Bucky and Peggy. His guest bedroom shared a wall with the master bedroom. He knew they had tried to keep it quiet, for his sake; they had underestimated just how good Captain America’s hearing abilities were. Steve had caught every hushed moan, every whispered command. He ached at hearing Peggy respond to Bucky that way, so familiar with him, as if she had been in his bed a thousand times before. ( _Of course she had,_ he reminded himself. _She was his wife._ ) She had grown used to another man, these past nine years, while Steve had been sound asleep, unable to feel her, unable to bring her pleasure, unable to touch her the way a husband should touch a wife.

He wouldn’t be able to grow old with her; wouldn’t be able to raise children with her.

Steve sighed.

That it was Bucky, not some stranger, should have made it better, but it didn’t, it just compounded the hurt, because with that ring, he hadn’t lost one lover, but two. Being with Bucky had always been so natural, like breathing. He honestly couldn’t remember the first time he and Bucky had decided to touch each other — he didn’t know if a conscious decision had ever been made, or if their ilicit behavior had just been the natural evolution of schoolboy rough-housing. As they got older, as they learned what it meant for a boy to be with a boy in that manner, they learned to take it more seriously; to be better at hiding what was so natural and normal to them.

They knew it had to end, one day. At least Steve did. He figured he’d have to swallow his pride and watch some dame capture Bucky’s heart, make a proper man out of him. He’d fuck him one last time, maybe the night before the wedding, just to say goodbye, and then settle into a life of celibacy — the best skinny little Steve Rogers could ever hope for, after a decade plus of Bucky Barnes in his bed.

But then Erksine, and the serum, and _Peggy_ — the script had flipped, and Bucky had suddenly been the one on the outside looking in, the way Steve had always been with Martha, and Rhoda, and Janine, and Brenda before her. For the first time, Steve had been the one closer to landing a forever girl, and Bucky had been the jealous one.

He rubbed his face, exhausted just from thinking about this. Perhaps his lack of sleep was catching up to him, he thought, yawning. He drank his coffee, took one last look at the sunrise, and went in.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky entered the kitchen, yawning. He grabbed the coffee from the top shelf and went to make a fresh pot, when he noticed there was already coffee made. He looked around the kitchen for the culprit, and saw Steve at the kitchen table, reading the paper.

“Morning, sweetheart,“ said Bucky, a mad sort of happiness entering his heart at the sight of Steve. Yesterday hadn’t been a dream, Steve was _here_ , he was here in Bucky’s kitchen, all six foot something of muscle and sinew and heart.

Steve smiled, softly, and then frowned. “Bucky, you gotta stop with the ‘sweetheart’, stuff,” he said, seriously.

“And why is that, sweetie-pie?” said Bucky, teasingly, heart pounding fast. He moved over to where Steve was sitting. He placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders, digging into the meat of the muscle, and set his lips against Steve’s temple, kissing him softly. “Don’t you like it, baby-doll?”

“Of course I like it,” said Steve, automatically. He blushed, a deep red.

Bucky brought his arms around Steve’s sides, and rubbed his arms. His mouth dipped lower, so that he spoke directly into Steve’s ear. “Then,” he started, giving Steve a little kiss. “Why do you want me to stop?”

“You know why,” said Steve, trying to sound measured and calm. His flush deepened, and Bucky could hear his heart beating faster. “One of these days, your _wife_ is going to walk in on us,” said Steve, quietly. He looked down at his hands.

Bucky said nothing, trying desperately hard to ignore what Steve had just said. Couldn’t Steve just let Bucky be happy? He let Steve go, and went to fix himself a cup of coffee.

“Bucky, I’ve been thinking…” started Steve.

“You’re not leaving,” said Bucky, automatically

“I have to,” said Steve, mulishly. “It’s for the best.”

“What if I stopped touching you?” asked Bucky, quickly.

Steve looked at Bucky, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, Steve, you win. We’ll be like we never were, just two fellas who never touch. It won’t feel weird or unnatural at all,” said Bucky, sarcastically.

“We always knew this would have to end, one day.” said Steve, quietly.

“You breaking up with me, Stevie?” said Bucky, heat entering his voice.

“You broke up with me when you got _married_ ,” said Steve, resignation in his voice.

“You were _dead_ ,” said Bucky, miserably. “Of course I got married.”

“And I’m not here to break up anyone’s marriage,” said Steve, firmly. He walked over to Bucky and kissed him, softly. “It’s over, Bucky,” he said, quietly.

Bucky kissed back, hard, almost as hard as he had in Howard’s lab. Steve made a surprised noise and opened his mouth to the kiss; let Bucky invade his mouth with his tongue.

“It’ll _never_ be over between us, pal,” whispered Bucky, fiercely. “Not in the way that really counts. But I’ll stop _touching_ you, if that’s what you want,” he said, pushing Steve away suddenly. He was angry; by god, was he angry. Bucky just got Steve back, and Steve wanted to pull this shit? Now?

Steve sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. He went back to the paper, and his coffee. He sat down and turned the page of his paper; started reading a new article. He was blatantly ignoring Bucky.

Bucky leaned on the kitchen counter, trying to get his breathing under control.

Peggy came into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee. “Morning, boys,” she muttered, clearly looking as if she could use more sleep.

“Morning, darling,” said Bucky, loudy, very much not looking at Steve.

“What’s the matter, Bucky?” she asked. She sipped her coffee.

“With me? Nothing,” said Bucky, flashing her a brilliant grin. He moved towards her, snakelike, grasping her by the waist. God, did he love his wife.

“You’re acting strange,” said Peggy, eyebrows raised. She put her coffee down on the countertop.

“Honey, I’ve never felt better,” said Bucky, smoothly, a wicked grin on his lips. He pulled her towards him by the hips and kissed her, harshly— biting at her lips, licking into her. He didn’t look at Steve to see if he was watching—he knew he was.

He kissed Peggy on the forehead, and released her, just as abruptly as he had grabbed her in the first place.

“I’m going for a walk,” said Bucky, loudly. “See you lovebirds later.” With that, he disappeared onto the grounds.

 

* * *

 

 

Peggy sighed, exasperated by her husband.

“I’m sorry about that,” said Steve, quietly.

“Why should you be sorry, dear?” she said, kindly. “It’s not your fault he acts like a brat, sometimes.”

“That he certainly does,” said Steve, laughing. He looked shocked at himself. “Peggy, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean…”

“What, to tell the truth? About Bucky? Please, Steve,” said Peggy. “You know him better than anyone, you know him better than I do. If anyone should be telling the truth about that man, it’s you.”

“I just meant, I shouldn’t be commenting on things that are none of my business,” said Steve, ears pink with shame. “What goes on between a man and his wife is none of my business.”

Peggy wanted to smile at Steve’s earnest propriety. “Don’t be absurd,” she said. “You’re hardly a stranger to us. To… either of us,” she said, softly. Steve blushed fully, his entire face turning a delightful shade of red. Peggy smiled at him — it was rather fun to embarrass this man, she found.

“Peggy, I need to find somewhere else to stay,” said Steve, quietly.

“You really don’t, Steve,” she said.

“I do. I can’t tell you why, but it would be best for everyone if I left,” said Steve.

Peggy bit her lip. “Look, do me a favor, and think it over for a day or two? Don’t make any rash decisions, not just yet.”

“Okay. Two days,” said Steve, relenting. “Then I’ll leave, find an apartment somewhere.”

“In two days, you’ll make a decision,” said Peggy, correcting him. “Just.... give me this, Steve,” she said, not exactly sure why she felt so adamant. “I have to insist.”

“Okay,” said Steve, softening. “I’ll decide in two days.”

 

* * *

 

 

_1944 — London, England_

Bucky frogmarches Steve into his hotel room, a firm hand on his shoulder, not caring if anyone sees, but sure no one has. He closes the door behind them and shoves Steve against the wall — Steve’s head falls back with a loud _thud_ , and Bucky closes his mouth over Steve’s, kissing him hot.

“Think you’re clever, do you?” hisses Bucky, pulling away from Steve. Steve follows Bucky, trying to get another kiss, but Bucky slams Steve back onto the wall, a hand loosely circling his throat. “What, you think you can make me jealous, Stevie?” Bucky snarls.

“No, Buck,” says Steve, pupils blown wide, a soft, dumb smile on his face. To an outsider, Steve would have looked well put together; the perfect soldier, uniform creased in all the right places, hair perfectly combed to the side. To Bucky, he looks like a fucking mess. The flush in his cheeks, the black in his eyes, the part to his lips; everything gives Steve away, but only if you knew him. And Bucky is the only one who really knows him, _Bucky_ is the only one who gets to see Steve like that. _Bucky_. Certainly not some dame in a red dress.

“You think you could _ever_ hide anything from me, Stevie?”

“No, Bucky,” repeats Steve, voice higher, breathless.

“That’s right,” says Bucky, stepping back. “Clothes off. On the bed,” he orders, and Steve hops to, like this is basic training and Bucky is his drill sergeant. There might have been something funny in the speed that Steve divests himself of his clothing, something amusing about how Steve hops on one leg, trying to get his uniform pants off, but Bucky isn’t in the mood to laugh. He feels a savage satisfaction when he sees how tall Steve’s dick stands, full and flushed; red at the tip.

“Hands up,” says Bucky, softening a little; just a little. “Over your head. Grab the headboard.”

Steve complies, never once taking his eyes off Bucky. Bucky takes a moment to take in the sight; all six feet, two hundred pounds of Captain America splayed out before him. Steve tries so, so hard to remain still for Bucky. He quivers a little with the effort.

Bucky kneels on the bed. His face is hard, impassive. He contemplates sucking Steve off, and dismisses the idea out of hand — tonight’s not for that. He reaches out and grabs Steve’s jaw roughly; wrenches his mouth open, shoves two fingers inside for Steve to suck.

Steve sucks.

When Bucky feels like he can’t take it anymore, he undoes his fly and tells Steve to turn over.

He works Steve open methodically; does it quickly and efficiently, the way he’s done a thousand times before. He slips into Steve and fucks him hard, pounding into him from behind, resolutely not paying attention to the little sounds of discomfort that Steve makes. Bucky takes what he wants without worrying about Steve’s pleasure. When he’s done, he tucks himself in and stumbles out of the room.

And when he crawls back into bed two hours later, stinking of whiskey and sick, Steve is there to hold him, to wipe away his tears, and to rock him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me! I'm talking more about where Bucky is coming from over at my [tumblr](http://wassuptictac.tumblr.com). Come join me! Let's talk Bucky Barnes! Also be my friend, I want more fandom friends. :p
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's some meta about Bucky in this chapter.](http://bipolarbuckyy.tumblr.com/post/145301452600/about-bucky-contains-spoilers-for-1953)


	4. Steve's Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More about Bucky and Peggy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UM. So it's been like.... nine months? Yeah, sorry about that. Real life caught up to me. I'm writing again. Expect more updates on the regular. 
> 
> Here's something fast. I like it, though. Bucky is so fucked up. 
> 
> As always, come hang out on [tumblr](http://www.bipolarbuckyy.tumblr.com).

_1946 — New York City_

“Jim meets this girl, and he won’t stop talking about her curves,” says Falsworth, leaning forward. “Her red lips, ‘like an English rose’, he keeps telling me. Bloody idiot only shuts up when he realizes he’s actually talking about my little cousin.”

Dugan wipes tears of laughter from his face, and thumps Morita on the back. “Sounds like our boy,” he says, pride entering his voice.

Jim is scarlet but he laughs with the rest of the Commandos, and Peggy smiles.

Out of the corner of her eye, she looks at Barnes, who is sitting at the edge of the table, his smile insincere, a flat look on his face whenever he thinks no one is watching. She knows he’s not paying attention; that he’s only been pretending to listen; smiling when everyone else smiles, laughing when everyone else laughs.  

The reunion wraps up, and she notices Barnes trying to make a quick exit. She makes a split second decision.

“Wait, Sergeant Barnes!” she calls out. She hates how formal she sounds, but they’ve never been close enough to drop titles.

He looks back at her, surprised that she singled him out.

“Agent Carter,” he replies. He hangs back, lets the other Commandos file past him, nodding at them in turn, face tight.  

“I just,” begins Peggy, coming up to Barnes.. “I just wanted to know how you are doing, we didn’t get much of a chance to talk in there,” she says, quickly.

“Why?” asks Barnes, suspicious. There’s no pretense here, nothing to indicate that Barnes feels he needs to treat her to the same show of normalcy he gave the Howling Commandos. If anything, there’s a hard edge to his voice; it indicates that his feelings towards her are anything but neutral.

“We didn’t speak much after… Steve died,” says Peggy, a little awkwardly. How to have this conversation? What kind of conversation is she even trying to have with this man?

“There was nothing to talk about, Agent,” says Barnes, harshly. “He died. My Steve…” he shakes his head. “Nothing to talk about at all,” he said, voice mean.

Peggy stares at Barnes, cooly. For the first time, she feels a spark of anger towards him, deep in her gut.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” says Barnes, eyes sliding off of her, as if he cannot stand to look at her any longer. He makes an attempt to push past her and follow his comrades—she isn’t having any of it.

“Excuse me, I wasn’t done,” says Peggy, her voice hard.

Barnes freezes, and turns to stare at Peggy. There is naked aggression in the way he looks at Peggy—Peggy wouldn’t be surprised if the Sergeant bared his teeth and started to growl.

“Now, I asked you a question, and you were quite rude to me, just then,” says Peggy, an edge to her voice.

“I don’t do rude, sweetheart,” says Barnes, in what can only be described as a snarl. “Certainly not to dames.”

“I find that quite funny, actually, because you’re being rude to me right now,” says Peggy, firmly. She stares at him, that patented withering gaze that usually melts men back into their rightful place.

“I certainly wouldn’t be rude to _Steve’s girl_ ,” says Barnes, voice laced with derision.

 _So that’s it,_ Peggy thinks to herself. “Ah, I see,” says Peggy, her voice soft. “Jealous, are we?”

Sergeant Barnes recoils in shock, and stares at her with wide eyes. Behind the anger—and there’s still plenty of anger—Peggy is surprised to detect a hint of fear.

“I’m not an absolute idiot, Sergeant Barnes,” Peggy continues. “Besides, you’re not very good at hiding your true feelings. You should never play poker, by the way.”

“You… you little…” Barnes is really snarling now, like a threatened dog.

“Be careful what you call me, Sergeant,” says Peggy, simply. She puts her hat on, adjusts it to a cock. “I am _Steve’s girl_ , after all. Wouldn’t want to disrespect his memory.” She smiles at Barnes, coldly, and brushes past him, into the frigid night.

 

* * *

 

 

_1953 — New York City_

Bucky zipped past the new SHIELD recruits, his feet hitting the pavement of the indoor track hard. He panted as he increased his speed, as he worked his body harder and harder. The burn was immaculate—every inch of him was on fire—and he kept going, around the track one more time, lapping the new recruits (and grinning to himself as he heard their groans at being so vividly outpaced).

Bucky ran for another forty minutes, long after the greenies had given up, and then hit the showers, humming as he scrubbed. When he was done, he threw a fresh t-shirt and pair of trousers on, and made his way up to the top floor, ignoring the stares of SHIELD technicians and scientists, who were surprised to see Agent Barnes out of a suit. It wasn’t often that he graced the top floor—he rarely wanted to disturb Peggy in her operations.

Truth is, he prefered to keep their worlds separate, as much as he possibly could, at least in appearances. It didn’t do Peggy any favors to have her hotshot war-hero of a husband, a Howling Commando at that, hanging around the office, overshadowing the important work the Director did. What started out as a dedicated attempt to shore up Peggy’s authority at work, turned into cherished habit—Bucky enjoyed the subterranean training facilities of the SHIELD building, and prefered to stay there when he was off-mission, putting his team through their paces.

He rather enjoyed being the brawn to Peggy’s brains—loved taking orders from her, probably a little too much.

Bucky whistled as he pushed open the doors that led to Peggy’s office. He grinned at the receptionist, who looked shocked to see him, and sauntered past her desk, fully intending to bypass the gate-keeper.

“Bucky, your wife asked not to be disturbed,” said Angie, in a firm tone.

Bucky sucked his teeth, and turned towards Angie. “Is she in a meeting, doll?” he asked, turning on his best lady-killer smile, the one that used to melt the dames in Brooklyn Heights. He is a little disappointed to see nothing but steely resolve in Angie’s gaze.

“No,” said Angie, in a measured tone of voice. “She said—”

“She said nothing,” said Bucky, winking at Angie. He moved towards the door, the door that had “DIRECTOR” written on it in big gold lettering. “I need to see my wife.”

“She doesn’t want to be disturbed!” said Angie, standing up, and looking furious.

“Thanks Ange,” said Bucky, loudly, pushing the door open.

Peggy was sitting at her desk, staring at paperwork, silver reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked up in surprise as Bucky enters.

“Well!” she said, after a moment, smiling at Bucky. “You’re in a good mood. New recruits any good?”

“Those kids are weak shit,” said Bucky, dismissively. He grins at his wife, happily. “Fresh out of college, and they practically passed out when I asked them to keep up with an old man like me.”

“Oh lord, how long did you ask them to run?” asked Peggy, who stood up and took off her spectacles, folding them away into her cavernous Director-desk.

“I just told them that the first person to quit wouldn’t make it past training, and might as well go home to their mothers,” said Bucky.

“Oh Jesus,” said Peggy, laughing. She came around her desk, up to Bucky. “Did you inform them afterwards that you were just hazing them?”

“Of course I did,” said Bucky. “When I hit the showers, I told the greenies they all did very well,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t wear out my recruits on the first day, Agent Barnes,” warned Peggy. She rested her hand on Bucky’s neck, fingered with a lock of hair that was getting a little long. “We worked hard to get them.”

“Don’t see why we have to get all these Princeton boys to do the work that a kid from Brooklyn could be doing,” grumbled Bucky. He kissed his wife—pecked her on the lips.

“Now Bucky, none of that,” murmured Peggy, smiling at him.

“If I’m being honest, I didn’t come up to talk about the mission,” said Bucky, a hint of fire in his voice.

“Mmmm… I could have guessed,” said Peggy.

“What do you say, Director Barnes? Want to make a baby in your office?” said Bucky, grinning.

Peggy looked pained. “I’ve got mountains of work, darling,” she said. “I told Angie to be sparing in who she let in here.

“Yeah, about that,” said Bucky, a little annoyed. “She kicked up a fuss when I tried to come in. Tell her to lighten up a little, would ya?”

“No, I told her to watch out for you,” said Peggy, and kissed Bucky lightly, lightly enough that her lipstick wouldn’t transfer onto Bucky’s lips.

“Wait, why?” said Bucky, frowning.

“You always get frisky when you’ve had a shock,” said Peggy, stepping back. She leaned on her desk and looked up at Bucky. “When your mother died, all you wanted to do was fuck me.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?” asked Bucky, frowning.

“There are healthier ways to deal with grief,” said Peggy, quietly.

“Grief?” said Bucky, surprised. “What grief? This is the opposite of grief, isn’t it? Steve’s back, he’s not dead anymore.”

“And he probably turned you down, didn’t he?” said Peggy, a wry smile on her face.

Bucky’s eyes widened in shock. “How do you…?” he asked, tentatively. Not wanting to give too much away. For the first time since Steve got home, for the first time since this riot of emotions started blooming in his gut, he felt a hint of guilt.

Peggy smiled at him sadly.  “Again, your wife is not an idiot, dear,” she said. “I always knew I’d come in second to him. It just didn’t seem to matter so much, when he was dead.”

“Peg, it’s not like that,” said Bucky, quickly.

“It’s fine, Bucky,” said Peggy. She looked at her desk, and frowned. “You should excuse me, sweetheart. I really am swamped with work. Representative Bloom wants to meet with me tomorrow about House appropriations, and I need to make sure our budget is safe.”

Bucky felt the blood rush in his ears. He stepped forward, grabbed Peggy’s wrist tightly. “Peggy, it’s _not like that,_ ” he whispered.

“Then what is it like, Bucky?” said Peggy. She was holding herself very still.

“I love you, Peggy,” said Bucky, fiercely. “You’re my _wife_. I want to start a family with you.”

“For the record, I love you too, Bucky Barnes,” said Peggy, firmly. “But you really do need to get your head out of your ass.”


	5. Tea and Helicopters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's a complicated man, but he's trying to do the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for like, not writing this story the way it should be written. I've been so absorbed in trying to get Scar Tissue out that I've been neglecting this one. I can't promise any updates soon, but this story is near and dear to my heart, so it will get finished.

_1947—New York City_

The radio’s on. It’s playing Glenn Miller, and that brassy big band sound Peggy loves so much is filling the apartment. She cranks the knob; the music reverberates throughout the kitchen. She sways her hips to the beat of the _Chattanooga Choo Choo_ ; hums along to the song.

Peggy stirs the pot in front of her, lets the steam rising from the beef stew warm her. It’s her mother’s recipe, perfect for the chilly autumn evening. Steam fogs the windows, she can barely see out to the street below. That’s fine with her, she thinks to herself. It’s privacy. Never mind that she lives in a highrise, never mind that it’s impossible for anyone to look in, even if they wanted to.  

The doorbell rings, startling her out of her reverie. She places the lid on the pot, wipes her hands on her apron, goes to the front room. She opens the door, and it’s Sergeant Barnes; Sergeant Barnes, whom she hasn’t seen in a year. She was expecting something from him—a call, maybe. A message sent through Dugan. Not a personal visit.

She opens her mouth to say something, nothing comes out. He’s leaning on the door frame, is examining the wood grain. He won’t meet her eyes. There is a slight odor to him—he smells of stale whiskey, of sour tobacco. A five o’clock shadow is blooming on his jaw, his hair is a little longer than it needs to be.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she says, eyes wide.

The Sergeant looks at her then, and she can see how rheumy and lined his eyes are. He looks older, more tired than she’s ever seen him. He pushes past her and stands on her carpet in the center of the living room, taking in his surroundings.

“Would you like some tea?” she asks, her Englishness reasserting itself at the last moment.

The Sergeant nods, and resumes his silent examination of Peggy’s living room. Peggy looks at him a beat longer than is necessary, and then turns on her heel and goes to the kitchen to put some water on.

When she comes back with a teapot and two cups on a tray, he is sitting on her couch, hands folded, staring into space. He is jolted by her return; murmurs a thanks as Peggy places a cup in his hands.

They drink in silence, and Peggy is wondering when’s the best time to ask Sergeant Barnes why he’s here, when the Sergeant speaks.

“I wasn’t decent to you, last time we spoke, Agent.”

 _That’s all right_ , Peggy wants to say. What comes out instead is “that’s true.”

The Sergeant winces, and takes a sip of his tea, as if to cover up his reaction.

“Is this why you came by?” asks Peggy. “To apologize?”

“And to ask you what you were thinking,” says the Sergeant, awkwardly. “Asking me to join S.H.I.E.L.D., after what I said to you. After how I treated you.”

“Come on, Sergeant,” says Peggy, and there’s a definite coolness to her words. “We both know some things are more important than petty lovers’ squabbles. He also would have wanted you to stop drinking so much,” says Peggy, matter-of-fact. “He’d want you to take care of yourself, now that he’s not here to do it for you.”

“All right, Carter,” says Barnes, looking away.

“I can’t take you on board if you’re not cleaned up, James,” she says, gently.  

“I get the point.”

“So is this a yes?” asks Peggy, heart beating a little quicker.

“Yeah,” says Barnes, and then grimaces. “If you’ll have me.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” says Peggy, solemnly. “It would be my utter honor to have you come aboard as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Bucky smiles at her. It’s a tired smile, and his eyes betray the depth his exhaustion stretches, but he smiles, nevertheless.

 

* * *

 

_1953—New York City_

“How much longer do you need me to run on this thing, Howard?” asked Steve, looking pained. He had been running on the treadmill for two hours, and had hardly broken a sweat.

“It’s a test, Steve,” said Howard, behind the plate glass window, speaking through a microphone. He is wearing a lab coat, holding a clipboard. “Play along, will you?”

Steve wanted to groan. He felt rather like a specimen; like a lab rat being put through its paces. He didn’t mind it so much when the war was on. But now that the Western world wasn’t at immediate risk of annihilation—he didn’t care what they said, a Cold War didn’t seem anywhere near as frightening as a hot one—he felt that all this was a little unnecessary.

But Howard would experiment on him in peace or wartime, he supposed. The belt on the machine sped up, and Steve found himself running faster so as not to be spun off the treadmill.

“What are you doing, Howard?” he yelled, irritated. He began to pant, ever so slightly, as the machine kept going faster and faster.

“Nothing,” said Howard, into the microphone. “Carry on.”

“I’m going to kill you,” muttered Steve. He was flat out sprinting now—running like he had a very large and angry animal chasing him.

“What was that, Stevie?” asked Howard.

“I SAID, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU,” hollered Steve, growing red in the face as he worked harder and harder.

“That’s the spirit,” said Howard, and Steve could just _hear_ the man’s self-satisfied smirk in his voice. “You’ll sleep well tonight, Captain.” he said, and Steve supposed that, at least, was true.

A murmur from behind the window—a woman’s voice. The window muffled the sound too much for Steve’s super-hearing to pick up on, but the microphone managed to catch what Howard was saying.

“Really?” said Howard, to the woman. “When does Agent Barnes need to go?”

Steve hopped off the treadmill, breathing hard. He walked over to Howard, and tapped the window that separated them. Howard groaned.

“Are you serious? You’re going to screw up the trial now?” said Howard, incredulous.

“Where’s Bucky going?” said Steve, ignoring Howard. He grabbed a towel off the rack, used it to wipe his face.

“Bulgaria. Yugoslavia. Lithuania. Somewhere,” said Howard, waving his arm, irritated. “How should I know? You just messed up weeks worth of preparation!”

“Sure I did,” said Steve, sarcastically. He rolled his eyes.

“Well, hours of preparation, at the very least,” said Howard, with something very close to a pout on his face.

“I’ll be back,” said Steve, pressing open the door that released him from the lab room. _Or maybe I won’t_ , thought Steve, but he didn’t say that. He took the stairs upstairs two at a time, all thirteen flights.

He pushed the door open to Peggy’s office, to see Peggy straightening Bucky’s tie. Bucky’s hands were in the pockets of his suit pants, his hat adjusted to a cock. He looked a little glum, but smiled when he saw Steve.

“What’s up, pal? Thought you were running tests with Howard all morning,” said Bucky, grinning.

“He had me running like a hamster in a wheel,” said Steve, irritated. “All he wanted was to make sure the machinery was working the same as when he left it.”

“Sounds like our Howard,” said Peggy. She was looking at Bucky fondly, something Steve was a little surprised to see — it might have just been him, but he had been sensing a distance between the couple, these last few days. Too many stony silences, too many averted gazes. Honestly, Steve had felt like he was being used as a conversational buffer between the two — they spoke to him, as a way to avoid speaking to each other.

“I decided I’d had enough for the day,” said Steve. “And I heard Howard say something about you going on a mission, Bucky.”

“Ah,” said Bucky, frowning. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, and looked at the ground.

“Cheer up, darling,” said Peggy, gently. “It’s not everyday you get to hunt down escaped Hydra war criminals.”

“Who escaped?” asked Steve, sharply.

“Hans Mueller,” said Bucky. “Low-level grunt, one of Schmidt’s followers, we only apprehended him in ‘46. He was hiding in Argentina. Pathetic little twerp.”

“Stop moping,” said Peggy, firmly, but she was smiling. “You know I wouldn’t have picked you for the mission unless I knew you were the right person for the job.”

“I know. It’s just…”

“I _know_ ,” said Peggy, smiling, sadly. “Don’t worry, we’ll always have next month.”

Bucky smiled at Peggy, eyes crinkling as he gazed at her. He reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it, and Steve felt a pang, from somewhere inside his chest. It wasn’t jealousy, quite. Or was it? It was the reminder that there existed a world between these two that he had no part of. So much had changed in the years he was underwater.

“When do you go?” asked Steve.

“Now, pretty much,” said Bucky, checking his watch. “Have to stop stalling. Gotta assemble my team.”

“Hey, why don’t I join you?” asked Steve, suddenly. “I could use a bit of exercise.”

“Howard didn’t wear you out?” asked Peggy, raising an eyebrow.

“I could use some _real_ exercise,” said Steve, grinning. “I want to actually break a sweat.”

“Tempting as that offer is,” said Peggy, “I can’t let you.”

“Why?” asked Steve, surprised, and a little disappointed. Hunting down Hydra—that’s what he was good at. That’s what he knew how to do, not spy on the Soviets, or whatever underhanded stuff that SHIELD missions seemed to consist of, from whatever .

“Paperwork,” said Peggy, waving her hand. “Bureaucracy. There are steps to coming on-board at SHIELD, and no one, not even Captain America, can skip them.”

“Really?” said Steve, weakly. “That’s what’s holding you back? _Formalities_?”

“Formalities are rather important when you’re in charge, turns out,” said Peggy, smiling.

“Peg’s turned into Colonel Phillips,” said Bucky, conspiratorially. He grinned at Steve. “Who would have thought the girl who once snuck you behind Hydra lines would turn out to be such a stickler for rules, huh?”

“And as said stickler, it’s time for you to go, dear,” said Peggy, straightening up.

“One last kiss before I bravely go unto my death,” said Bucky, warmly. He grabbed his wife, dipping her back, pushing her off kilter.

“Shut up,” said Peggy, giggling, as she moved around in Bucky’s grasp, faux-fighting him. Bucky kissed her then, melodramatically—like a movie star smacking one on his leading lady before the lights dimmed and the credits rolled. Steve smiled, and looked at the floor, averting his gaze as his best friend kissed the hell out of his other best friend.

“Come on, Steve,” said Bucky, releasing Peggy triumphantly. “Let’s leave the Director to her directing. My helicopter awaits.”

 

* * *

 

“You have a helicopter?” asked Steve, as they wait for the elevator.

“I have a lot of things,” said Bucky. He pressed the up button again, impatient.

“When are you coming back?” said Steve.

“When the mission’s done,” said Bucky. The elevator doors opened.  “Ah,” he said, pleased.

“Well, when will the mission be done? What’s the projected end-date?” asked Steve, feeling a little silly for pressing the issue. But he wanted to know when he could expect Bucky back.

“Probably a week. Maybe two, at the very most,” said Bucky, shrugging. They walked into the elevator, and Bucky reached into his suit jacket, took out a set of keys. He found the correct key, inserted it into the side panel of the elevator, turned it. The indicator for the roof turned on.

“Why’d Peggy send you?” asked Steve, curious. “Hunting down a Hydra scientist in peacetime can’t be so hard that it requires Agent Barnes, of all people.”

Bucky shot Steve a sidelong smile, acknowledging the compliment. “Peg wants me to train the greenies. It’s really testing the water for them,” he said. “Their first real mission, and all that.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” said Steve, a little wistfully, and then felt a little foolish for revealing so much of himself.

“I’ll miss you, that’s for sure,” said Bucky, quietly. “Wish you were coming, pal. Like old times.”

Steve could hear the longing in Bucky’s voice, and for a moment, it made him uncomfortable. “Maybe that’s for the best, then,” said Steve, trying to keep his voice light. “We could use some separation.”

Bucky sucks his teeth in irritation, but says nothing.

There’s a ding, the elevator doors open, and Steve squints in the sudden sunlight. Bucky steps out, Steve follows, in silence. There is a helicopter at the far edge of the roof, they walk towards it.

“You know why I didn’t want to go?” said Bucky, turning to Steve, suddenly.

“Why?” said Steve, warily. He didn’t want this to be another declaration of love, didn’t want this to be yet another thing Steve’s would have to be responsible and mature about.

“Because Peggy and I are trying to get pregnant, and she’s ovulating in three days,” said Bucky, simply. He stared at Steve, an inscrutable expression on his face.  

Steve didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

“Peg isn’t a spring chicken anymore,” continued Bucky. “Our chances are better the earlier we do this. And one month gone… it’s one month gone,” said Bucky, shrugging.

“I had no idea,” said Steve, at a loss.

“I want a kid, Steve,” said Bucky, seriously. “I want a child. A little girl. Or boy, I don’t really care. I just want kids.”

“Since when do you…” started Steve. Bucky cut him off.

“I had a big family growing up. You know what it was like. It was fun. And now that I’m a family man, figure it’s what needs to happen,” said Bucky, simply.

Steve was, frankly, a little shocked. Bucky—the Bucky he knew, the one who was carefree, the one who was wildly in love with him, with _Steve_ —that Bucky never talked about kids before. Never talked about family.

“We started late, because Peg needed time to solidify her career,” said Bucky, distracting Steve from his own thoughts. “But she finally agreed. And now we’re trying.”

“I’m happy for you, Bucky,” said Steve, swallowing his feelings, doing his best to feel good for his friend.

Bucky frowned, looking at the ground for a moment, not acknowledging Steve’s comment. “Yeah,” he said. “So, you know,” he said, starting to say something. He shook his head, fell silent.

“What, Bucky?” asked Steve.

“Stop looking at me like I’m a mess,” said Bucky. “I was a mess for a long time, because of you. I missed you, Steve. I missed you so fucking…” he trailed off, looking off at the Manhattan skyline. “But I’m married, now. I have a family. I’m not who you think I am.”

“I can tell,” said Steve, and it came out more bitter than he wanted it to. He winced, shook his head.

“That’s why I can’t figure out why I still want you so much,” said Bucky, angrily. “I have a wife. I am trying to have a baby. Why do I still…?”

Steve took a step back from Bucky, though all he wanted to do was step forward, forward into Bucky’s arms. He averted his gaze.

Bucky laughed. “Don’t worry, Captain,” he said, sneeringly. “I’m not going to make any more _moves_ on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve looked up, hurt. He was unaccustomed to this level of meanness from Bucky; this level of spite. Bucky wrenched open the door of the helicopter. He paused, and then looked at Steve, a harsh look on his face.

“Maybe it would be a good idea for you to move out,” Bucky said, coldly. “You’re causing enough trouble as is.” And without a second word, Bucky got in the helicopter and slammed the door.


	6. Dinner and a Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Peggy spend some quality time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, on a roll now. Don't know if you can expect updates as regularly as this, but know that I'm writing on this story!

Steve rang the doorbell and Peggy answered, broad smile on her face. She looked the perfect housewife in her frilly apron, her impeccable makeup, with her curls bouncing as she came forward.

“Welcome, darling,” she said, stepping aside for Steve to come through.

“I made the diver stop at the liquor store,” said Steve, holding the bottle of wine aloft for Peggy to inspect.

“Brilliant,” she said, taking the bottle and leading Steve into the kitchen. “I’ve got a pot roast in the oven, it’ll be ready in half an hour.”

“Sounds good,” said Steve, slipping his suit jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack. He felt strange, being here. He’s felt strange since he watched Bucky’s helicopter take off; like his head was floating several feet above his body, or like he was separated from everything by plate glass windows.

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Peggy, pulling the oven door open, checking on the roast. She flashed a grin over her shoulder, and Steve’s stomach lurched. He did as she asked, no hesitation allowed. He sat down, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Howard certainly worked you hard today,” said Peggy. She was mixing a salad on the countertop.

“Yeah,” said Steve, loosening his tie. Howard had found Steve after Bucky had left, and had equal parts coaxed and bribed him to continue with the experiments, which Steve still felt were largely unnecessary. “I’m exhausted,” he said, and he’s surprised to find that it’s true.

“Poor dear,” she said. “Pop open that bottle, then,” she said, nodding at the bottle of the wine sitting on the counter.

“You know I don’t drink, right?” said Steve. Nonetheless, he did as Peggy asked, and poured her a glass.

“Ah, but I do,” she said, conspiratorially. She knocked her glass against Steve’s imaginary one, and took a large sip.

Steve laughed, more out of politeness than actual feeling. He was not in the mood to find anything very funny, right now.

When the food was ready, they ate, Steve making appropriate compliments when they felt necessary, Peggy acknowledging them with a graceful murmur. Soon, conversation shifted to places Steve found uncomfortable.

“I thought we could go to Connecticut next weekend,” said Peggy, slicing into her roast.

“Oh?” asked Steve, politely.

“Yes, the three of us. Angie’s been telling me about the town she’s from, and it sounds absolutely picturesque. What do you say?” she asked.

“The three of us?” Steve asked, blankly.

“Well, of course.”

“I can’t impose, Peg,” said Steve, and wanted to wince as Peggy huffed, annoyed.

“You can’t keep doing this to us, Steve,” she said, frustrated. “Of course you will come. We want you to be there, don’t talk rot.”

“Bucky doesn’t,” said Steve, quietly. He looked at Peggy, pain in his eyes. “He told me.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Bucky doesn’t know what he wants.”

“Which means I need to give you two space until he does,” said Steve, firmly.

“That might be a little difficult with you living here, and all,” said Peggy, lightly. She looked at Steve, who grimaced. Steve could tell the exact moment she realized. “Oh,” she said, dully.

“I have to, Peggy,” Steve started.

“You don’t,” said Peggy, sounding miserable as she shook her head. She looked down at her plate for a moment, her hair hanging forward, and for a moment, Steve wanted nothing more than to touch it; to smooth it back from her face, to kiss her forehead. 

They sat there in silence, for a moment. “When are you leaving?” asked Peggy, finally.

“Tonight,” said Steve. “I’ve asked them to send a car for me after dinner.”

“So soon!” said Peggy, alarmed.

“Bucky made it very clear I’m screwing with your dynamic.”

“The only one causing problems in my marriage is Bucky, not you,” Peggy said, and Steve could hear real anger in her voice.

“You know what we were, Peg,” said Steve, quiet. Whether he was talking about what he used to be to Bucky, or to Peggy, even Steve didn’t know.

Peggy was silent for a minute, a full minute; breathing through her nose, eyes closed. “Where are you going?” she asked, finally.

“A hotel,” said Steve.

“No,” said Peggy. “Cancel your reservation. S.H.I.E.L.D. has service apartments in Manhattan, you can use one.”

“All right, then,” said Steve. He could give her this much.

“And another favor,” said Peggy. “If you’re so set on leaving us, you could at least escort me to Senator Paulson’s soiree on Friday.”

“What?” asked Steve, shocked.

“Bucky won’t be here, and I don’t want to show up alone."

Somehow Steve thought there was a little more to it than that. He stared at her until she rolled her eyes and huffed. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind showing up alone, but it doesn’t look good, Steve, to go to an event like that, stag. People might talk.”

“Since when do you care about what people will _say_?” asked Steve, incredulous.

“Since I started running SHIELD, unfortunately,” said Peggy, sighing. “Do you have any idea how many federal agencies are headed by women?” she asked.

Steve opened his mouth to argue with her, but Peggy pre-empted him by answering her own question.  “One. Only one. And an intelligence agency at that. International espionage; not exactly a traditionally female domain,” she said, swirling the wine left in her glass.

“I don’t get it,” said Steve, confused. “Why will my escorting you to a party help your image?”

Peggy sighed, again. Took a sip. “A certain type of powerful man is confused by a strong woman. Leadership is considered unladylike behavior,” said Peggy. “I like to reinforce that I am, in fact, a woman, at times. Going to events like these in fancy dress, with a handsome soldier on my arm; that helps.”

Steve pinked, and ducked his head. “I’m not your husband, Peggy,” he muttered.

“I’m well aware of that, but you are a close friend, and Bucky trusts you,” said Peggy, gently. “Besides,” she said, tone turning to something businesslike and efficient—a shift Steve wasn’t entirely comfortable with—“we anyway need to announce to the world that Captain America is back. A congressional event is the perfect way for you to make an entrance.”

Steve blanched at that. “Peg, we haven’t discussed this,” he said, uncomfortably. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable being a public figure again.”

“The world needs a Captain America,” said Peggy, voice hard. “Now more than ever, Steve.”

“Why?” asked Steve, despairingly. “What’s so dangerous about the current world order that I need to put that damn costume back on? We won, didn’t we? We defeated fascism?”

“But we didn’t defeat totalitarianism,” Peggy countered. “And besides, the world is beginning to cotton onto the fact that enhanced individuals are cropping up around the world. We need someone, someone with powers like yours, who can be the face of resistance.”

“I don’t mind fighting,” said Steve. “I want to fight. I just don’t want to have to do any more movies.”

“That can probably be arranged,” said Peggy, lip twitching. “Those films were a bit gauche, anyway.”

They smiled at each other, and happiness at being in Peggy’s company suffused Steve. At that moment, he knew he’d agree to anything Peggy asked of him, if it would make her happy.

“All right,” said Steve, ducking his head. “I’ll take you out.”

 

* * *

 

Steve hated DC. It was the first time he had ever been here, but he hated it. He felt the urge to pull at the collar of his uniform, and successfully suppressed it. It had been so long since he had been forced to wear his dress uniform; there hadn’t been much need for it on the front. He wished, for a wild second, that he was wearing the Captain America costume; for all the enhanced visibility it promised, at least the damn thing was at least comfortable.

He was standing in the corner of the ballroom, behind the punch table; he wasn’t hiding, per se, it was more like he was artfully avoiding crowds. He scanned the sea of heads for Peggy’s lavender gown—he located her, finally, speaking to some politician or another. He sighed, and took a sip of his punch. He could taste the alcohol in it and wished, not for the first time, that it could affect him in some manner.

Peggy made eye contact with Steve. She made her excuses with whoever she was talking to, and made her way to Steve, head held high.

“You’re being very secluded,” she said, when she reached Steve. 

“This isn’t my scene,” muttered Steve.

“Pretty sure you have to be a sociopath to genuinely enjoy parties like this,” said Peggy, flicking invisible lint off Steve’s lapel.

“You seem to be having fun,” grumbled Steve.

“I’m experienced at bullshitting powerful people, Captain,” she said. “Come on,” she said, flicking her head in the direction of the crowd. “Time to play your part.” She looked at him expectantly.

Steve sighed, took Peggy’s arm, and walked her through the mush of elegantly dressed people. It looked, for all intents and purposes, as if Steve was the one leading a demure Peggy through the crowd; but Steve knew the truth. He knew it in the firm grip she held on his arm, in the purposeful, keen way she scanned the crowd for important people to talk to.

“Ah, Representative Bloom,” she said, turning to a tall, balding man in a tuxedo. She pivoted to a stop, arm resting delicately in Steve’s grasp.

“Director Barnes!” he said, sounding delighted to see her. Steve wondered if his enthusiasm was as fake as he knew Peggy’s was at seeing him. “I believe you know my wife, Patricia,” said Bloom, nodding at the woman besides him, who smiled at Peggy, demurely. “And I don’t believe I know your companion,” he said, adjusting his spectacles.

“Yes, well,” said Peggy. “My husband is working, right now, so he asked his good friend Captain Steven Rogers to escort me to this function.”

The Representative turned to Steve, and his eyes widened. “Captain Steven… Rogers? But surely...”

“Yes,” said Peggy, smoothly, not dropping a beat. " _T_ _hat_ Captain Steve Rogers.”

“You’re supposed to be dead, young man!” said the Representative, amazed.

“Not dead; still alive,” said Steve, heart beating fast. He looked at Peggy, and detected the most imperceptible of head shakes. He shut his mouth. Apparently, he was to let Peggy do the talking.

“Steve was lost at sea,” said Peggy, looking up at Steve adoringly. Steve stared back, finding it hard to look away from her big brown eyes. “The serum helped him stay alive when he was frozen at the bottom of the ocean—Howard found him last week. We didn’t know how to break the news to the world; figured Paulson’s party was as good a time as any.”

“Well!” said Bloom, looking perturbed. “This is news, indeed. Captain America, back on the scene.”

 _Who’re you calling Captain America?_ , Steve wanted to argue, wanted to fight back against the blind assumption that he’d pick up from where he left off, just like that, but he remembered his promise to Peggy at the last moment, and pursed his lips.

“Think it might help convince Paulson to vote to keep SHIELD’s funding in place, if he knew that Captain America was working with my agency?” asked Peggy, sweetly. Steve felt a chill come over him. He heard the naked calculation in Peggy’s voice; heard the chess piece slide into place.

Bloom laughed, heartily. “Trust you to figure out the one thing that might change that lousy Democrat’s mind,” he said.

“I’m good at what I do, Representative,” said Peggy, and there was a hint of stubborn pride there.

Bloom turned to Steve. “Captain,” he said, giving Steve a stiff salute; one which Steve half-heartedly returned, after a moment. “Now, tell me, son,” he said, placing an arm on Steve’s back, steering him away from the company of women. “What have you been doing with yourself since you’ve been back?”

Steve stammered out an answer, and they talked; meaningless stuff. Steve did his best to seem like he was paying attention, when instead, was really concentrating on Peggy’s conversation with Bloom’s wife.

“Now, Peggy,” said Patricia, conspiratorially. (Steve strained to hear her over her monologuing husband, and if it weren’t for his super-hearing, he probably wouldn’t have been able to pick up anything she said.) “This surely isn’t the same Captain Steve Rogers who was rumored to be your beau during the war, right?”

Steve glanced at Peggy, whose smile had tightened, though it had not dimmed in intensity. “Ah, the one and the same, Patricia,” said Peggy. “Though those were always just rumors. James and I had always been closer, during the war.”

Steve turned back to the Representative, a false smile pasted on his face, his heart thudding in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Peggy wandered into the front hallway. She looked at the door to the coat room, pensive. It was the only place in the banquet hall that she hadn’t checked. And of course, sitting in the corner of the coat room, was Steve. He looked ridiculous sitting there, his big frame hidden amongst all the ladies’ overcoats, all his medals pinned to his chest.

“There you are!” said Peggy, peeved. “You keep getting away from me. Word’s getting around—people are wondering where Captain America has gone.”

“I’m no good out there, Peg,” said Steve, standing. He sounded forlorn. “I don’t even know who I am, anymore. Fighting, I can do. Politicking?” he shook his head. “Not so much.”

Peggy felt guilt flash through her. “Steve, I’m sorry if I wasn’t… completely honest with you when I asked you to escort me to this thing,” she said. “Yes, having Captain America on our side would help SHIELD succeed in Washington a little more.”

“That’s not why…” said Steve, trailing off. He grimaces, and looks at her. “Peggy, you have no idea why I’m upset, do you?”

“It’s not because I’m using you to save SHIELD’s budget?” asked Peggy, heart beating fast.

Steve shakes his head. “You were always closer to Bucky, during the war? It was just rumors, that I was your beau?” he asks, looking pained. “It’s what you told that lady. Like what we had; it didn’t matter.”

“Oh Steve,” said Peggy, stepping forward. She remembers, then, remembers that shy, sweet, skinny boy she fell in love with in the summer of ‘44, remembers how he grew big and tall, but always seemed like an overgrown kid; she remembered their hushed fumbling in the closet during Project Rebirth, remembers her grief when Steve crashed the plane in the Atlantic.

“You matter; you matter, sweetheart," she said, voice trembling.

Without thinking—because it felt right—she kissed him. She cradled his face with her hand, kissed him chastely, heart thrilling when he kissed back, when he wrapped his big arms around her body. It felt like when he had kissed her goodbye on that car, speeding towards Red Skull’s plane, except that was _goodbye_ , and this was _hello_ , hello darling, hello to the world, welcome back.

And just as soon as it began, it ended. Steve pushed her away, pushed her so hard she nearly stumbled and fell backwards. He stared at her, horror in his eyes. The back of his hand was raised to his face, ready to wipe away the wetness of her mouth, but he hadn’t done it yet.

“Steve,” started Peggy.

“No,” said Steve, forcefully, tears creeping at the edges of his voice. “This isn’t… this isn’t okay, Peg.”

“I know,” said Peggy, miserably.

“Bucky is my _best friend_ ,” said Steve.

“I know,” she said, voice hollow.

“What are you _doing_?” he asked, shaking with fury.

Her head snapped up at that, eyes narrowed. She was about to point out that Steve had very much kissed her back, thank you very much, but then—

“Or is this just a part of your fucking _politics_?” he spat. “Am I… was this all…” he trailed off, looking broken, hunched in on himself.

“Steve, no,” said Peggy, horrified. She reached out to touch his shoulder, his chest, his cheek, anything to reassure him—

but Steve flinched away from her hand as she raised it, and pushed past her, out of the coat room, pointedly not looking at her.

It was a while before Peggy could move again. In a daze, she rejoined the party, only half-responsive to a Representative’s wife when she asked where she got her lovely dress; barely able to answer Senator Randolph when he ribbed her about the rider SHIELD had managed to attach themselves to in the new appropriations bill.

Steve wasn’t there when Peggy arrived at the hotel suite. She wasn’t expecting him to be, really. Still, she swallowed down her disappointment with two fingers of good scotch, and fell asleep shortly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Er, things start getting happier next chapter. Make that next to next chapter. You'll thank me in the end. I believe that!


	7. Scenes from a Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of 1947, and the beginning of 1948, as they pertain to a certain Peggy Carter and Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a seriously, seriously fun chapter to write. I hope you guys enjoy it, I spent a good portion of today flailing over how cute Bucky and Peggy's relationship was. This is a flashback chapter, but prepare yourself, next chapter, we're back in '53 and are going to have to deal with the angst that that entails. 
> 
> Putting a content warning for anti-Asian racism in this chapter, as well as canon-typical violence.

****_1947 — New York City_

“I still don’t think the goddamn Mandarin is hiding on Beacon Hill,” says Thompson, like a petulant child.

Peggy squashes down her dislike of Thompson, and smiles, patiently. (If her “smile” is more her baring her teeth at the man, so be it.) “Agent Thompson, the Mandarin, for all his pomp, can be a very wily creature when he wants to be. He’s been known to go undercover for years at a time.” _You know this_ , she wants to add, but doesn’t.

“A Chinaman in Boston?” said Thompson, shaking his head. “Would stick out like a sore thumb.”

Peggy feels a flash of irritation. She is about to respond but Morita, sitting next to her, is quicker to the draw.

“Careful, Jack,” he says.

“Sorry, I forgot the Oriental caucus gets an opinion,” says Thompson, dismissive.

“You watch your fucking mouth,” says Dugan, chair tipping back with the force with which he stands up.

“That’s enough,” says Peggy, sharply.

Dugan sits. He’s glaring at Thompson, breathing heavily—he reminds her rather of a bull which will charge the second it is released from its restraints.

“Thompson, you will go for a walk,” she says, in a crisp voice. “You will take half an hour to think about your choice of words. And you will be more respectful when you come back.”

Thompson, laughs, derisively, but he does as she asks. Peggy watches him leave, heart thudding.

“Why do you put up with that moron, boss?” says Jones.

“I agree with Gabe,” says Morita, raising his finger.

“I’m not going to discuss personnel decisions with anyone in this room,” says Peggy, privately agreeing with the both of them. It had been a risk, taking on an agent she didn’t know. But then again, this entire operation was a risk.

When it became clear that the SSR had only hired her because of her connection to Captain America and that they believed her only capable of secretarial work, she had convinced Colonel Phillips to throw his political weight behind her and her SHIELD project. So far, cozying up to various Senators on the Intelligence Committee had yielded her… well, this room; a tiny office on the Lower East Side, masquerading as an accountant’s practice. If they didn’t have Howard’s money to get them through the end of the year, she had no idea how she’d make payroll.

Hiring Thompson had been a favor she’d paid Representative Bloom; Thompson apparently had saved his son from dying a painful death on a wretched island in the Pacific. Bloom had neglected to mention the fact that his son’s savior was a complete and total ass.

“Bucky, what do you think?” says Dugan, turning to the one silent party in the room.  

“He’s a jackass,” Barnes says, voice croaking from disuse. He’s sitting in a corner, working on some report or another. “Steve would have hated that guy,” he says, looking at Peggy. “You should fire him.”

Their eyes meet for a moment. Peggy is the first to look away.

“I’m not discussing personnel decisions with anyone in this room,” says Peggy, and everyone groans.

 

* * *

 

Peggy enters through the front door, sleep-deprived from a late night at the office. She murmurs a hello to Angie and approaches her desk to look through the mail. To her surprise, Barnes is already there, leaning on Angie’s desk, talking to her in a low voice. Angie is laughing, and Barnes straightens up as Peggy approaches.

“James,” she says, greeting Barnes.

“Boss,” he says, inclining his head. She takes a moment to look him over. Barnes has been shaving and showering in reasonable quantity these days, but she still has suspicions about his drinking, suspicions not allayed by the flecks of red in his eyes, the tiredness in his face. Still, his personal life is none of her business, especially since he never let it interfere with his work.

“Anything good today, Carter?” asks Angie, eyes shining with residual laughter.

“Not much, Angie,” says Peggy, flipping through the envelopes. “There’s some paperwork from Howard that I might need your help with later, but that’s about it.”

She pushes open the door to the office they all share, but before she goes through, she looks back at Angie, laughing again at something Barnes said.

 

* * *

 

“Boss, get down!” Dugan yells. Peggy does as he says; bullets zinging over her head as she ducks behind a police barricade, breathing hard. She reloads her pistol and peeks around the side; she sees Barnes run forward, firing at the hostiles, winging the closest one in the shoulder, throwing the spent weapons on the ground. Barnes sprints to the injured hostile, knocking him to the ground and disarming him; uses the hostile’s own weapon to fire upon his comrade.

She grits out a curse and spins out from behind the barricade, pistol drawn, intending to provide cover for Barnes. She sees the sniper a second after the sniper sees her—she feels a sharp pain in her side and hears Dugan’s frantic shout before she falls on the hard pavement. Her eyelids flutter in an effort to stay open as she grabs at her waist; hands shaking and wet with blood.

Someone is carrying her to safety, but she can’t see who.

 

* * *

 

She wakes up with a dull pain in her left side, with a raging headache. The first thing she sees are the blue curtains of the hospital room, waving in the slight breeze.

“Good, you’re up,” says Angie’s voice, from somewhere. Head pounding, Peggy turns her head, and sees Angie’s face looming above her own, looking very kind and concerned; a welcome sight indeed.

“Ange,” croaks Peggy, trying to smile, wincing as the effort splits her lip.

“Have some water, Carter,” says Angie, gently lifting a glass to Peggy’s mouth.

“What happened?” asks Peggy, when she’s done sipping.

“Apparently, West Virginia went south,” says Angie.

“Is everyone all right?” asks Peggy, frantically. “Dugan, Barnes—”

“Everyone’s fine,” soothes Angie, stroking Peggy’s forehead.

“Did we get the target at least?” asks Peggy, frowning. She hates that she wasn’t able to complete the mission personally.

“Not alive,” says Angie. “Not like you wanted.”

Peggy curses, and tries to lift the covers, tries to sweep them off her body—she finds it hard to move her arm.

“How long have I been here, Angie?” asks Peggy, wondering why her body is so stiff.

“Three days,” says Angie. “You were shot up pretty bad. But you’ll be fine, the doctor’s said. You’re a miracle, Carter.”

“And you’ve been here the entire time?” asks Peggy, softening.

“Me?” says Angie, brightly. “Heavens, no. Bucky’s been sitting here, not me. He only left because he had to get back to New York; Dugan found new information on the target’s whereabouts. He sent for me to take over, I only arrived a few hours ago.”

“Barnes stayed with me?” asks Peggy, blankly.

“Yeah,” says Angie. “Poor guy, looked like he hadn’t slept in days when I showed up.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy returns to the office a week later to cheers and applause. Jones pats her on the back, Morita whoops with joy. Dugan cheers and even Thompson smiles and shakes her hand. The only one who says nothing is Barnes. He looks up from his work for a brief moment, maybe, and Peggy swears she sees something flit across his features, a look of relief, perhaps, but then his face hardens.

The moment, such as it was, is over.

 

* * *

 

Peggy fires Jack Thompson, after the truth of his war record comes out. She hopes her agents will react to the news with a modicum of professionalism, which, of course, doesn’t happen.

“Ding dong, the witch is dead!” Dugan sings, doing a little jig, clutching the brim of his bowler hat like a Vaudeville performer.

“This calls for drinks!” yells Jones.

“No, it does not,” says Peggy, sternly, trying to hide her smile.

“Yes, it does!” all her agents crow at her.

They go out for drinks.

 

* * *

 

The cigarette dangles from her lips as she fumbles for a lighter, which of course slips from her fingertips just as she manages to get it out of her coat pocket. Cursing, she crouches to retrieve it, but it’s bounced; it’s bounced and she doesn’t know where—

“Carter,” says a voice, and Peggy looks up. Barnes is standing in front of her; hat cocked, holding a lit cigarette. Transferring it to his mouth, he offers her a hand, which she takes. He fishes a lighter from his pocket and flicks it on; holds it up for her convenience.

“Thank you,” she says, leaning in to light her cigarette. At a close distance he smells like whiskey, although that isn’t surprising, she thinks. He’s been drinking for the last few hours. They all have.

She pulls back and pulls on her cigarette, holding the smoke in her lungs before exhaling, pointing her breath away from him, out of politeness. Her non-smoking arm is folded against her chest, protective against the cold of the evening.

Barnes is looking at her intensely as he drags on his cigarette. “Glad you’re alive, Carter,” he says, finally. “I never got the chance to tell you that.” Stepping closer, his eyes flicker down the side of her body. She takes a deep, unsteady breath as he reaches into her coat to stroke her flank. His fingers ghost over where she knows her scar is, and it hurts a little; she’s a little more tender there than she’d like to admit.

Slowly, reluctantly, he withdraws his hand. He’s still standing unreasonably close to her, and it strikes Peggy, then, that there’s no reason for it, no reason for Barnes to touch her, to get this close. He’s looking at her lips, and Peggy really should tell him to back off, should tell him he shouldn’t presume to take such liberties with his superior, but then he’s kissing her, and she doesn’t care anymore about such silly things as propriety.

Eventually, he pulls back, breathing hard. He strokes her face.

“James,” she whispers, but he corrects her.

“Call me Bucky,” he says. “I don’t know who James is.”

 

* * *

 

After that, Peggy starts becoming more aware of Bucky.

When they move to a new office (Peggy having curried favor with yet another politician), he’s there, carrying a box to the truck outside. His sleeves are rolled up and the hair on his exposed forearm brushes her skin as he walks past her. When they arrive at the new office ( _five_ rooms, this time; five—plus a training room, and a holding cell) Bucky is there, unpacking, cracking wise with Sousa, the new hire. Peggy frowns. It’s not exactly as if Bucky hadn’t been there before; it’s just that before, she never really paid much mind. Before, she only really noticed him in a professional capacity.

But now—his smile. How did she miss his smile, before today? Hell, how did she miss it in Italy? She supposes (and here’s where things get tricky, isn’t it?), that he never smiled much when they were at war. Something to do with Peggy shacking up with Steve, or maybe it was the grimness of combat in general, but she’s certain, as she watches Bucky spar with Morita, that his smile was never this bright; never this quick to rise to the surface.

Bucky wrestles Morita to the ground; holds him there until he taps out. They untangle. Bucky gracefully leaps to his feet and offers Morita his hand. Morita takes it, grumbling audibly; Bucky laughs, slaps Morita on the back. They square up, ready to go again.

“You’re staring,” says Howard from somewhere behind Peggy; saying it into Peggy’s ear. She blushes, and immediately resumes her unpacking.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t happen on purpose, but Bucky and Peggy often find themselves the last people in the office.

“Look, Cobra is satisfied with running arms in Asia; he doesn’t intend to move his operations to the United States,” argues Bucky, popping Peggy’s homemade kettle corn into his mouth. His feet are propped up on the table; his tie is loose.

“I disagree,” says Peggy vehemently, shaking her head. She circles something on the chalkboard, taps the board with her chalk for extra emphasis. “He’s already here. The incident in San Antonio last month was him, or someone working for him. And I can prove it.”

“How?” challenges Bucky, arms crossed across his chest.

Peggy launches into her explanation, which Bucky only interrupts three times. They argue until Bucky is smothering his yawns into his elbow; until Peggy feels exhaustion clutch at her.

“Goodness, it’s ten o’clock,” says Peggy, looking at her watch.

“Call it a night, Carter?” asks Bucky, stifling down another yawn.

“I suppose so.”

They close up shop, lock the doors behind them. They look at each other, for a moment; the air feels suspended around them, their breath making little puffs of fog. Bucky lives uptown; Peggy, down. This is where they normally split ways.

“Would you like me to walk you home?” asks Bucky.

Peggy raises an eyebrow.

“It ain’t safe for a lady,” he says, grinning at her.  

Peggy huffs out a laugh at that. She’s got a pistol strapped to her thigh and a knife on her ankle; she’s probably the most dangerous thing south of 42nd Street tonight, and Bucky knows it.

“Well, all right, then,” says Peggy, smiling softly. Bucky holds out his elbow and Peggy takes it, heart fluttering.

And if, when they get to Peggy’s, he pushes her up beside her building’s entrance and kisses her until she can’t see straight, well, that’s fine as well.

 

* * *

 

_1948—New York City_

It becomes a regular thing, Bucky walking her home. And the kissing, that’s regular as well. Peggy’s only a little ashamed to admit that this—it’s the highlight of her week, that she thinks about this every time she catches Bucky’s eyes in the hallways.

It’s warmed up a little, outside. Spring has broken the back of the harsh winter, and Peggy’s wearing fewer clothes, something Bucky evidently finds very interesting. He’s kissing her neck, biting it, leaving bright blotchy marks that will prevent Peggy from wearing a good half of her work-appropriate dresses for the next week.

Someone catcalls them, and Bucky whips his head around, looking for the source of the disruption. It’s a drunk, who stumbles away; satisfied with only making his presence known. Peggy places her hand on Bucky’s cheek, as if to redirect his attention to what really matters—but Bucky takes a step back and frowns, running a hand through his hair; pushing it out of his face.

“Bucky,” says Peggy, tentatively. “Would you… like to come upstairs?” They’ve been meeting like this for a few months, and this is the first time Peggy’s felt ready to take things to that level. (She reflects on how quickly she fell into bed with Steve, and wonders what’s different, this time.)

“God yes,” says Bucky, and Peggy pushes off the wall, grinning. She leads him upstairs, stifling her laughter so as not to wake the neighbors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really appreciate if you guys could let me know what you thought of this chapter; I tried some new stuff, and I hope it didn't fall flat. Don't forget to comment!


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